


Grace Means Beautiful

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: He's Just Like His Daddy [8]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Babies, Emotional, Hospitals, M/M, Mpreg, Pregnancy, Premature Birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-05-23
Packaged: 2018-03-31 21:00:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3992680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"“What the fuck, I've got six weeks left.” Mickey whispers to himself, suddenly worried."</p><p>The Birth of Ian's and Mickey's second child wasn't how they expected it to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grace Means Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

  * For [maryellen590](https://archiveofourown.org/users/maryellen590/gifts).



> So I did this because Maryellen590 was really excited for the birth (sorry for the emotions, but I had this idea for a little while) and I loved the idea of giving it to you as a present my friend!! I really hope you like it, because I know from your comment on the last fic that you wanted it!:)

“Oh my god, stop fucking crying!” Mickey explodes towards his son, hands clawing against his scalp in frustration. He didn't mean it to happen, of course he didn't, he loved Owen more than anything in the world. But stress, the weight of his bump, the swell of his legs, he still had a month and a half to go and he wasn't in the right mind, or effort, to think positively about that.

Owen burst into more tears, running and wobbling from his toy car and over to the sound of Ian's feet. The redhead storms through with a sigh, picking up Owen and resting him against his hip. “Oh, fucking great idea, Mickey. Shout at your three-year old son who's clearly upset.”

“Oh fuck off, Gallagher.” Mickey bites, shaking his head with a mocking laugh, hand roughly rubbing against the sore of his bump.

“No, I won't just _fuck_ off.” Ian barks, cutting the television off that Mickey was clearly watching. “You need to calm the fuck down. What are you doing, huh? Showing how to be a _real_ man, huh?” Ian knew it would strike hard, but fuck it, he'd been under a lot of stress too; working two jobs simultaneously, trying to help Mickey around the house and with Owen. Amongst other things, he had the right to be stressed too.

Mickey grunts, pushing back his comeback through his gritted teeth, slipping Ian off. “Don't be so fucking dramatic. I told him to stop crying for fucks sakes.”

Ian lets out a groan in annoyance, bobbing Owen against his hip. “Yeah, well, you might as well of just shoved a fucking gun in his hand and taught him the best place to shoot.”

“I ain't got time for your bullshit.” Mickey steps up, hand gripping to his stomach as he attempted to sit up. Ian watches, in a scowl, cooing their son, kissing the top of his auburn hair as Mickey gruffly made his way to the bedroom. Time was running out now and the pregnancy had flown by like lightning.

Mickey grabbed for the bedroom door, when - “Holy mother fucking shit.” What was a silent room, instantly turned into nothing more than the sound of water clashing against the wooden floor. Ian turns in shock, eyes widening in both fear and confusion, witnessing Mickey's grey sweats suddenly turned damp and dark. “Fuck.” They both mutter.

“What the _fuck,_ I've got six weeks left.” Mickey whispers to himself, suddenly worried. In a beat, Ian's rushing over, placing Owen onto the couch Mickey had previously been sitting on. He finally sees that its not water puddled on the floor; it's blood. Before he could say anything, or even process what was happening, Mickey fell back into his arms, eyes clenching excruciating pain, legs buckling as he hissed and heaved into a shout.

Neither of them had been more scared in their lives.

***

Mickey was rushed into hospital barely twenty minutes later, wheelchair, brown bag to breathe into – the whole gag. Ian had followed, bringing Owen with him and dropped him off at the children's area with some nurses as he rushed into the emergency theatre with Mickey. They hadn't said the reasons, nor the causes, instead they told them that Mickey had an infection due to stress, that left pressure on the baby. This meant that they had to retrieve the baby that day, before any further harm could be caused to it.

Obviously, Mickey had refused. “This is my fucking kid, I want it out naturally! I want it out when its fucking due!” They didn't listen, of course they knew what they were doing, and Ian had managed to persuade Mickey it was the best option. For the baby.

That's how they ended up in the theatre, a green sheet resting before Mickey's face that covered his lower half. The doctors surrounded behind the curtain, clangs of metal louder than it should. Ian holds at his boyfriends hand, kissing at Mickey's damp forehead. “Mick, just stay calm, aright.”

“How can I stay fucking calm? It's six weeks early, _six_ fucking weeks, Ian!” His shout was barely in ear-shot, mixed with the core of laboured gasps. Ian knew more than anything that Mickey wasn't angry, he was scared. Scared that six weeks was too soon. Scared that it was _his_ fault. Ian was scared too.

Ian feels hot tears form in his eyes, he leans down peppering reassuring kisses into Mickey's hair. “They know what they are doing, Mick.” He doesn't dare look over the sheet to see what was going on, he purely focused on Mickey who looked paler, gasps growing sharper. That's when they hear a clang of metal, again, and despite the anaesthetic Mickey flinched one last time.

All the doctors held still, one leaning down on the other side of the sheet. In a shudder, Ian kisses against Mickey's hairline, eyes filled with tears, Mickey hisses. “Shit, it's okay Mickey, you're okay.”

There's a pause, until both Ian and Mickey gasp at the voice. “It's a girl.”

Mickey feels his head go light, his heart fluttering at the words. Ian lets out a small sob, wetly smiling down towards his boyfriend. Their hands clutched tighter, fingers squeezing together until the pink shade of skin turned white. A _girl._ Their little girl.

The doctor moves from around the green sheet, holding an unmoving, really small baby in her hands. The little girl is covered in blood, white goo, the cord still stuck into her tiny body. She was perfect, a little tuft of black hair in a small patch against her scalp. There was one thing missing. Mickey's weak gasp, hand tightening against his, pulling Ian from looking. “Ian, why the fuck ain't she crying?”

“Mick-” Ian tries to speak, worried himself and unsure of the explanation. The doctor ignores Mickey's loud question, before cutting off the cord and wrapping the baby up, checking for a heartbeat against her delicate chest. Panic; that's all Ian can feel. Mickey too.

“Why the fuck isn't she screaming?” Mickey yells this time, tiredly, his eyes drooping a little despite the tears falling from his eyes. There's a beep, too loud, and Ian can't find a place to look.

The doctor tries to look sympathetic, earning a nod from the male co-worker. “We're going to have to take her to the NICU, _now.”_ Ian's heart stops completely, and when he looks towards his paled boyfriend he knows Mickey's has too.

***

The doctors had told him that Mickey had lost a lot of blood, that he needed to stay for a couple more days, maybe more. They told him that the operation went well, that they managed to get their little girl out before harm was endured. Ian had asked about their baby, and it ended up being scarier and more heartbreaking than he had thought. Due to her six week early arrival, she wasn't able to develop her lungs fully and needed help breathing for a minimum of two weeks. They had told him that she would have to be in an incubator in the NICU before going home. Worst of all; they told him that she didn't have a high chance of surviving it, and that she was finding it hard to respond to treatments.

Ian sat and cried for what felt a lifetime – and still, they wouldn't let him in, to see Mickey or the baby, until things were running smoothly.

Two hours later, Ian was still stuck in the waiting room, Owen curled up against his chest oblivious to what was going on. It was nearing 2am and the darkness was threading through the thin blinds of the pale, empty waiting area. The doctor hadn't come back just yet, even when Ian had yelled and cursed out to the nurses for not letting him see neither his daughter or his boyfriend. It was driving him fucking insane. It felt like Owen was feeling it too.

That's until, “Mr Gallagher.” The doctor stepped through, clipboard in hand. Ian rushes up balancing a fluttery eyed Owen against his hip. Rapidly, tears forming in his eyes, he fires up, “How is he? How is she? When can I see them?”

“We put your daughter in the NICU, she's luckily responding to the treatments, and her breathing in running smoothly. I shall get a nurse to take you there soon,” The doctor spoke carefully, having already witnessed Ian's outbursts. Ian lets out a sigh of relief, the tears springing back.“Mr Milkovich has been moved to Ward B, and that's why I'm here, he well- he's-” The doctor looks awkwardly, and Ian smirks through his tears at the fact he knows Mickey threatened the guy, or at least tried to.

***

“I'm not some _fucking_ lab-rat!” Ian hears Mickey yell as he enters the room, standing by the door with Owen by his side, watching as Mickey verbally attacks the nurse who was trying to pass him some pills. Crouching against his knees, Ian laughs wetly, before speaking to his son, “Look who it is.”

Mickey's head darts towards them, his angered face smoothing out into a tired smile. “Hey, little man.” He croaks, through what Ian knows is mixed emotions trapped inside of him. The nurse coughs, placing the pills against the side-table before leaving the room. Owen's eyes widen, smile nearly breaking his face, before running over to the bed, screaming, “Papa! Papa!”

Ian follows, wiping his eyes against the side of his arm. Owen leaps onto the bed, crawling sloppily over to Mickey who winces at the spring of the bed. “Hey, watch it little guy.” He warns, before opening his arms weakly to embrace him. “Sorry Papa.” Owen apologizes, politely – a shock to both of them because the kid was _never_ polite.

In a shuddered breath, Ian storms forward and pulls their lips together, hand clasping to the back of Mickey's head. Pulling back, he rests their forehead together, whispering, “I love you.” Mickey nods, tears yet forming just as Ian's were, he mouths _you too,_ before they were interrupted by Owen's high-pitched giggle. “Ew, daddy.” He rests his head against the top of Mickey's chest, hiding his face when Ian laughs wetly, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

“Where is she- how- how is she?” Mickey stutters, hand wrapped around Owen's back, kissing the top of his messed up hair, stomach still on fire but he could live with it. It's all that's been on his mind; their little girl. The small, fragile, and almost transparent being that they had created.

Ian places his hand within Mickey's, “They put her in the NICU, told me she was breathing okay. We can see her, well, we can see her when the nurse comes back.” His heart is breaking, he'd never felt like this before, and looking towards Mickey made it worse. It was clear as fucking day, that the man was in bits, that he was blaming himself for this.

“Fuck,” Mickey breathes, lips quivering, “Man, I'm fucking sorry- fucking-”

“Hey, hey,” Ian steps up, moving over to Mickey and cupping his face in his shaking hands. “This is not your fault, okay, it's not.” He knows that Mickey doesn't believe him, because he blames himself too. But this was it, it happened, and they couldn't do anything about it. “You want to see her?” He asks, heart aching to do that exact thing.

Mickey nods slowly, pulling Owen closer as he lets out a small, weak laugh. “I've been waiting for your ass to say that since you came in, Gallagher.” Ian's hand threads softly through his hair, he turns to the redheaded boy cooped up against his chest – just like the day he was born – he sucks up before, “You wanna meet your little sister, big guy?”

Owen nods, excitement washing over his face. Ian nods, smiling for the first time in what seemed like a hell of a night – which it was – and lifts him from the bed. He pulls the wheelchair from the side of the room, pushing it over to the bed. “You ready?” He asks, Mickey, hands out to help him out of the bed.

“Just help me the fuck up, Gallagher.” Mickey bites, softly to his dismay. Owen clamps a hand against his mouth, giggling a little. Ian rolls his eyes, before pulling back the blanket over Mickey's legs and wrapping an arm around his back. Mickey winces loudly, a sharp gasp releasing from his throat. “Take the pills, Mick.” Ian passes him the two white capsules and the glass of water, as Mickey sits shakily against the edge of the bed.

Mickey scoffs, grunting as he swallowed them whole. “You sound like me.”

“I know.”

Ian wraps a firm hold around Mickey's waist, careful of his movements he manages to put Mickey into the chair, laughing a little when he watches the scowl form against the brunettes cheeks. “Stop being so fucking stubborn, Mick.” He whispers, before Mickey turns and holds a weak hand around his wrist.

“What if- if-” Mickey stutters, eyes glazed. Ian understands what he's feeling, all the what ifs running through his mind. But this was _their_ daughter, she wasn't going to back down. No fucking way.

“Mickey,” Ian smooths a hand through his dark hair, eyes filling. “She's a part of _us,_ us remember that? She ain't leaving without putting up a fight.” He places a kiss against Mickey's damp lips, before kicking off the stop from the bottom of the chair, Owen holding onto the arm next to Mickey's hand.

***

When they finally got to her, it didn't help them feel any more relieved. Instead, Ian held a hand over his mouth, shaking into a sob. Mickey bit his his lips, cheeks going wet, his breath all shaky and weak. In the NICU, inside of an incubator, lay the most precious, and yet most delicate child they had ever seen. She had a tiny tuft of dark hair that resembled Mickey's, her face all red and eyes clasped shut. There was a tube in her throat, around her small nose, fluids and wires all around her. Mickey breathes unsteadily, hand reaching out towards the box.

“It's okay, Mick.” Ian mumbled softly, breath nearly taken away by the sight of his daughter. “We need to see her, even like this.”

Mickey nods, closing his eyes for a second before looking out towards their daughter. Ian pushes his chair eye-level to the box, one hand squeezing at his shoulder. Mickey just stares,eyes glancing around the small beauty before him. It's what he did, bottled up, and he couldn't say anything because nothing explained how he felt at this point. His breath caught in his throat, cheeks burning in the task of holding it all in, he places a fingertip against the side of the incubator.

Ian lets out a tiny sob as he stepped beside Mickey, touching the top of the box with the palm of his hand. “Hey baby.” He whispers towards the little girl, his voice weak, stomach clenching. “Aren't you beautiful, all small and – and cute like your daddy, huh.” Mickey glad, really fucking grateful that Ian was talking. At this point it was the only thing keeping him sane. That and the way her chest lifted and fell rhythmically, delicately.

“Daddy?” Ian feels a tug against the bottom of his jacket, he turns slowly towards his son who's eyes are wide, filled with worry and what looked like fear. Ian nods, helplessly, hand still stuck to the glass of the box. “Can I see her?”

Ian laughs sweetly, before bending down and picking the boy up against his side. “Sure you can, buddy, just don't tap the box too loudly, yeah?” Owen nods innocently, before his eyes sparkled as they grew wide at the sight. Ian kisses the side of his head, before looking back towards the incubator.

Meanwhile, Mickey just listened. He looked at the heart monitor, steadily beating. It wasn't strong, but it was steady, it showed him she was a fighter and he couldn't be more proud. He closed his eyes, sighing as a tear slipped down his reddened cheek. He leans his head to the side, and rests it against the leg of Ian's jeans. All three of them couldn't take their eyes off of her, her beauty, her fight.

Owen places his palm against the glass, as Ian showed him to. “Hello baby Grace.” He whispers, leaning forward against his position in Ian's arm. Ian and Mickey turn to each-other, exchanging glances at the name they had never heard before. Mickey lifts his head, tapping Owen's foot a little. “ _Grace?_ Who's that little man?”

“Aunt Fi Fi told me grace means beauwiful.” He mumbles towards Mickey, eyes twinkling when Ian and Mickey's face broke into smiles. The little boy points to the box, eyebrows lifting as if they had asked him the worlds stupidest question. “Grace.”

The room went silent, struck back from their son's words. Ian and Mickey glanced towards each-other, then back down to their little girl, already knowing what they were both thinking. Owen was so right, more than right, she was _beautiful._ Before Ian could say anything, Mickey finally spoke up, fingertips brushing against the glass. “Hey, babygirl. We just got you a name.”


End file.
